


Like a Dance

by Savvylicious



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Tabris being coy, Zevran being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savvylicious/pseuds/Savvylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Discovering that Alistair is no Casanova should have amused Zevran more, but he's about to find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Dance

"Hmm. Do you think she would liken to flattery?"

Zevran’s voice suddenly breaking the silence of the night made Alistar jump. Following his line of gaze, Alistair snorted and went back to poking the fire. "Yeah. Like a feral cat wants to be stroked."

"Oh, so you have tried wooing our lovely commander already?" The Antivan’s tone was heavy with amusement, and when he looked at Alistair he didn’t need an answer. His flushed cheeks were proof enough. "And how exactly did she respond?"

"Why do you care?" he snapped, turning to glare at Zevran hotly.

"Truthfully? I find the idea of you being rejected hilarious. I imagine you responded much like a kicked puppy."

"Oh _sod_ off. Everything is a game to you."

"That would not be an incorrect assumption," Zevran chuckled and went back to staring at their ruthless leader. She sat motionless and alone on the far side of camp. With a soft hum he stood, and crunched his way over to his fellow elf. She said not a word as he made himself comfortable a short distance away, and continued to ignore him as he exaggerated a shiver. "I’ll never understand how you Fereldans deal with this horrid cold, my dear." 

Their leader remained stoic as ever and only offered him a few dull, disinterested blinks as her response.

"How I miss the warm Antivan nights. The smell of tomatoes and the ocean on the breeze. Here it smells of nothing but cold and wet dog. No offense."

"What are tomatoes?" Her soft, husky question had surprised him. She wasn’t well known for her small talk. Zevran flashed a smile that was all glittering teeth and warm flirtation.

"Well my darling," he noted the way her eyes narrowed and decided to not use that term of endearment again, "They are a most delicious fruit. Sinfully red, juicy, and tangy. I can eat them as one eats an apple, but most prefer to have them as garnishes, or crushed into a succulent sauce."

It occurred to him that she wasn’t going to have any idea what he was talking about. She most likely grew up in a filthy alienage, and from the hardened look in her eyes, he’d guess he was right. Their stilted conversation ended there, and she went back to keeping watch. He could cut his losses and retreat for the night, but Zevran wasn’t known for backing down. Instead, he made a point to casually scoot closer to her, just enough to see if his presence was welcome or not. When she did not lean away, or towards him, he knew he’d come to a standstill.

It was a difficult dance, but only if one didn’t know the steps.

Zevran had made it abundantly clear that he desired her, as had Alistair done before him. Clearly though, the other Warden’s advances had been ill-received, which left him at a significant advantage.

Elves were usually pretty, but he thought she was absolutely gorgeous, despite the nasty scar and blind eye. He adored things that were powerful and dangerous, and she was both, and so much more. Her hair was like fire in the sun, her greatsword an extension of her fury. She was truly a wonder, and he wanted to bask in her marvel. Preferably naked. He’d never wanted something so bad in his life.

"Tell me your name, princessa? Grey Warden and Commander are becoming dreadfully dull."

She stayed passive, and he’d swear on his life that she was possibly playing coy.

“Äzusehrymn," was her murmured answer, and she didn't even bother to look him in the eye.

“Äzusehrymn,” Zevran all but purred in response. The name rolled like honey on his tongue, and his accent made it sound far more pretty than it had to be. She kept her face forward. Maybe it was just the way the firelight danced on her skin, but he thought her cheeks might have grown warmer. “Such an unusual name. Is it Dalish?”

"Yes," she muttered, sounding as if she’d not had a normal conversation in months. "It means fire song."

"Well, I’ve never heard a name that suited anyone better."

She looked at him then, her hazel eye darting over to meet him for a moment, “Äzu or Tabris is fine. It’s a bit of a mouthful.”

"I don’t mind a mouthful."

Äzu let out a gruff snort, then quickly shut her mouth and looked appalled that such a sound had come out of her. Zevran was overjoyed to find that his lewd comment had amused her. Baby steps if anything, but now he had her relaxed and in a more sociable mood, which was far more than many of their companions had done.

"Must you always be so sexual?"

"That’s part of my charm dear."

She snorted again, but relented and turned from her post so she faced him better. He was so caught up in the way the firelight danced on her hair and his own scheming thoughts that he didn’t know he’d been leering until she cleared her throat for his attention.

"You were staring."

"I do that a lot."

"I noticed." 

Her mouth crooked sideways, and Zevran felt himself grinning cheekily. She’d be tough to crack, but a welcome challenge. He’d have her flush and swooning against him in no time.

Äzu smiled, her eyelashes bowing and he swallowed.

That is, if she didn’t have him begging first.

It was like a dance, and he’d asked her to join him. And for the first time in his life, Zevran was deathly afraid of being refused.


End file.
